


The Most Beloved Star

by I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own



Series: Barduil [17]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Barduil - Freeform, I tripped and landed my dumb ass back in the Barduil fandom, Immortal!Bard, Star!Bard, This might be a first, there's no angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24161224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own/pseuds/I_have_a_Mycroft_of_my_very_own
Summary: Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. ~ Sarah Williams
Relationships: Bard the Bowman/Thranduil
Series: Barduil [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/267661
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	The Most Beloved Star

**Author's Note:**

> I legitimately have no idea where this came from (that's a lie I was thinking about Stardust while reading a Barduil fic and BAM!)

Bard has spent his whole life looking up at the stars and wondering what it would be like to look down upon the world. Wondering what it would be like to be so far removed from all the troubles that come with inhabiting a world that’s always on the brink of, or in the midst of, war. It’s always sounded peaceful, the stories his mother would tell him.

He has spent his whole life looking up at the stars and wishing, praying, hoping that he could join them. Fly up to the heavens and be with them. But no matter how hard he wishes, no matter how much prays, and how desperately he hopes, he doesn’t join them. Not once.

Still, when he is a man grown, with a wife and children of his own, he tells them his mother’s stories about the stars, and watches as his children look up to the heavens, wishing, praying, hoping.

* * *

When his wife dies and she’s buried in the earth, Bard lies beside her grave and looks up at the stars above him. Tells them stories of the woman he loves, even though he knows they would have seen everything, her whole life, their shared lives, as things played out. But he tells them, anyway, talking all night until his voice is hoarse and his oldest child comes searching for him with the first rays of the morning sun.

When he follows Sigrid home, his heart feels suddenly lighter and he’s able to breathe without feeling like he’s choking on ash.

* * *

He’s never let his true self be free, not once. Not since he was a little child and his mother made him swear that he would always hide the truth of himself. This world, she’d said, is not ready for us. He’s always kept his word and ensured his children did the same.

Until he’s standing deep in the ruins of Dale one night, far away from where his people have settled down, after he’s watched his home go up in flames, slain a dragon, fought in a major battle, buried friends and strangers, burnt foes, been named king, and farewelled the life he once had. This broken city around him is such a reflection of his own self that he stands, deep within the rubble and looks up at the stars above him, choking on tears that he swore he would not cry.

He stands under the stars and lets free his true self, shining like a mini sun, like a flame lit in remembrance; flickering and burning as his heart breaks in his chest. When he collapses in exhaustion with the first rays of the sun, he realizes he is not alone, as a set of strong arms catch him, carefully lying him down on the ground.

“I have you, Bard.” A familiar voice murmurs, as his eyes flutter shut, all of his strength leaving him. “Rest.”

* * *

Bard wakes to a more comfortable bed than he has ever had and he frowns, slowly opening his eyes and blinking in surprise when he realizes where he is. Trying to figure out how he ended up in the Elfking’s tent only leaves him with no answers, so, he slowly rolls out of the bed. His body feels raw and aching and he nearly collapses the moment he puts weight on his feet, but strong arms grip his shoulders and hold him up. Almost drunkenly, he looks up into a set of beautiful, green eyes.

“Thranduil?” he asks, his voice confused to his own ears, even though he’s in Thranduil’s tent and he is the anomaly here, not the Elfking.

“I don’t think you should be up, yet.” Thranduil murmurs, gently guiding Bard back down onto the bed, Bard grumbles but doesn’t fight it, sinking down on the edge of the bed and leaning into the elf when they sit beside him. “I don’t know how you did what you did, but I’m not surprised you’re exhausted.”

“Mother was a fallen star.” Bard slurs, resting his head against the elf’s chest and breathing in the scent of rain deep in a forest, of freshly blooming flowers, of the air just before it rains in the spring. “You smell nice.” Bard mumbles, letting his eyes fall shut, Thranduil chuckles, Bard can hear it vibrating in his ear.

“Thank you.” The elf answers, sounding a little bewildered, but Bard just hums and listens to the heart beating steadily in his ears.

He doesn’t notice when sleep claims him once again.

* * *

When he wakes the next time, it is night, he knows by the pull he feels beneath his skin to let his inner self free. He doesn’t, instead, he opens his eyes and rolls out of the bed he’s in, frowning at it until he remembers that he’s in the Elfking’s tent and then he groans, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and close his eyes.

“Way to make a good impression, Bard.” He mutters to himself, startles when he hears a little chuckle and he lets his skin glow _just enough_ that he can see, can make out Thranduil sprawled over the bed that Bard has just left, the Elfking’s eyes nothing more than two green orbs in the darkness, watching him. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be, I don’t mind.” Thranduil answers, sitting up, his eyes not leaving Bard once. “Come, I don’t think either of us will be getting further sleep tonight.” He says, climbing from the bed and heading through the curtain into the next room. Bard following quietly behind him, still glowing gently.

He pulls the glow back when Thranduil lights a candle and Bard watches as the Elfking fetches a pair of goblets and a wine bottle. Bard laughs, he’s certain he’s drunk more wine in the few days since he met this elf than he has in his whole life, but he doesn’t complain, simply sinks down at the table as the elf sets the goblets and the wine bottle between them, letting it breathe.

“My people love best the light of the stars.” Thranduil says, looking at Bard through his eye lashes, Bard looks back, searching Thranduil’s face for any hint that the elf is tricking him, but he only finds honesty and something Bard might think was excitement if it were anyone else.

“Oh?”

“Mhm. Elves hold all light sacred, of course, but wood elves especially love the stars. The lights that shine ever in the darkness.”

“They don’t shine for you.” Bard points out, feeling like he must, because the stars don’t shine for anyone but themselves.

“They don’t have to, that they shine at all is enough, and we love them for it.” Thranduil replies, carefully pouring their wine, having decided it’s had long enough to breathe. Bard takes his goblet with a quiet murmur of thanks before taking a sip, letting the strong flavour of Dorwinion burst on his tongue.

“You shouldn’t.” Bard whispers, looking down into the red liquid in his goblet. “They care nothing for your suffering or your love or your life.”

“They don’t have to, Bard. That they are there at all, that they shine at all, that is enough for us.” Thranduil answers, his eyes are full of such sadness when Bard looks into them. Bard has to force himself to look away, least he once more gives into the sadness that wells within him and that has since the battle.

“Right.” Bard sighs, taking another sip of his wine and swirling the liquid in his goblet. “What have you told people?”

“I haven’t.” Thranduil promises, Bard frowns at him, before accepting his words as truth. “It’s not my story to tell.”

“Thank you.” Bard whispers, cradles his goblet to his chest and doesn’t speak again until the sun comes up.

* * *

It becomes a habit, Bard spends his days rebuilding his new kingdom and spending time with his children, but at night, he seeks out the Elfking and they lie together, either in the elf’s bed or out under the stars, talking, drinking, enjoying each other’s company. Then comes the day for the elves to return to their kingdom and Bard must learn to face his new life alone. He doesn’t want to.

“When Ithil is at her brightest, I will be in a clearing on the edge of the forest.” Thranduil whispers to him, the night before the elves leave, when they’re dozing in the elf’s bed, Bard’s head full of far too much wine.

“I’ll be there.” Bard promises, determined that no matter what, he will keep it.

* * *

That first month after their parting, when the full moon is shining in the sky, Bard slips out of his home, nothing but a shadow in the night until he is far enough away from the city that he can let a little of his glow free, to help him find his way.

As he ducks into the eaves of the forest, he hears a familiar voice singing and follows the sound.

_A Elbereth Gilthoniel_

_silivren penna míriel_

_o menel aglar elenath!_

_Na-chaered palan-díriel_

_o galadhremmin ennorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_nef aear, sí nef aearon!_

He follows the sound until he finds Thranduil, lying in a clearing, his swords strapped at his sides as he looks up between the leaves of the trees and to the starlight above. For the first time outside of the battle, he sees Thranduil in clothing that isn’t thick embroidery, it still probably costs more than Bard has ever made in his life, but in place of his thick robes, he has on, instead, a dark green tunic and brown breeches and he wears no crown upon his head.

“What does it mean.” Bard asks, as he lies down in the grass beside his friend.

“It’s a Hymn to Elbereth Gilthoniel, she who placed the stars.” Thranduil replies, rolling onto his side so he can look at Bard, who smiles at the explanation.

“You thanking her for putting me in your path or for giving you the stars themselves?” he asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Both.” Thranduil replies, a slow smile forming on his lips as he appraises Bard. “I owe her a debt I fear I can never repay.”

“Thranduil-“ Bard stops, sucks in a breath and sighs. “Are we ever going to talk about what is happening between us?” he asks, because they haven’t spoken of what they are, if they are anything more than friends.

“I love you.” Thranduil answers, his eyes sparkling in the star light; Bard’s and the others above them. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do and I cannot help it.”

“I love you, too.” Bard whispers, feels his heart swell. “But… my people cannot know what I am, it’s too dangerous, for my children.”

“Then we can sneak around in the shadows as we are now, as we have been doing. It can be our little secret.” Thranduil decides, a mischievous little grin forming on his beautiful face, Bard laughs and moves forward to press his lips to Thranduil’s for the first time. The elf tastes like wine and berries in the prime of their life. Bard finds himself going back for more, even as he starts to glow brighter, despite himself. “Silith nin.” Thranduil breathes against his lips when they pull away for air, their foreheads resting together.

“What does that mean?” Bard asks, deciding that he will learn Sindarin even if it kills him.

“My starlight.” Thranduil answers, reaching out to wrap his arms around Bard and pull him close. “Meleth silith nin. My beloved starlight.” Bard smiles, snuggling against Thranduil and gently dimming his glow, so it isn’t so bright enough that it’s painful to Thranduil’s eyes.

“Always. I’ll always shine for you.”

* * *

Each month, when the moon is full in the night sky, Bard and Thranduil meet in that little clearing in the forest. They spend the nights singing and talking and clinging to each other in the light of the stars, when morning comes, they both slip away back to their own kingdoms, back to their duties and their children and their lives.

* * *

A year passes and Bard receives an official letter from Thranduil, inviting him and his children to join the elves to celebrate Mereth Nuin Giliath, Bard frowns, he’s still at the stage of learning Sindarin where he’s piecing together a sentence’s context by the few words he knows. The only word he knows is Giliath, which he knows means star, beyond that, Bard has no idea. Nevertheless, he sends a response confirming that he and his children will be there, then puts it from his mind to deal with the planning for the Anniversary of the Battle, since it was agreed last year that the Dwarves of Erebor, the Elves of Mirkwood, and the Men of Dale would regroup each year to remember their lost ones.

* * *

Bard greets Thranduil politely and politically, it is Tilda who breaks with decorum, slipping down off the horse she shares with Sigrid and all but bolting across the courtyard, throwing her arms around Thranduil’s waist and clinging. Thranduil laughs, gently resting his hand on her head as he looks down at her.

“Mae govannen, Princess Tilda. It is wonderful to see you again.”

“I missed you!” Tilda exclaims, looking up at him with a giant smile on her face. “You should visit more often, or we could visit you!” she announces, and for a moment both Bard and Thranduil are worried that she’ll start glowing, so bright is her smile, but the moment passes, Thranduil promises to consider her ideas and then Tauriel is leading the children away.

“Come Bard, we have much to discuss.” Thranduil says, turning and leading Bard through the winding paths within the mountain, coming to a stop outside a set of beautifully crafted stone doors. Thranduil ushered Bard within and request food and drinks to be sent.

Then, the two kings spend the rest of the day discussing a wide range of things, such as Sigrid’s marriage prospects (slim, since she’s scared most of them away), Bain’s tutoring in all the things a king aught to know (going so much faster than Bard’s), Tilda’s patience with acting the prim and proper princess (ever fleeting), to more pressing matters, such as the dwarves in the mountain and the coming celebration in Dale.

Before they know it, Feren and Galion are coming calling for them, to get them ready for the feast. Bard lets himself be ushered through the halls, having absolutely no clue where he is or where he is even going, but Feren is a good guide, and happy to fill the walk with excited chatter about the feast ahead of them.

The room Feren takes him to has an outfit already lying out on the bed when they get there. Bard frowns at it then at Feren, who clears his throat, awkwardly.

“Aran Thranduil had this made for you as a gift, a sign of the goodwill between us and Dale.” Feren explains, though he looks like he would much rather be anywhere else. Bard considers the elf’s words quietly, before crossing to the bed, carefully holding up the outfit.

“These are the Gems of Elbereth.” Bard whispers, looking at the small white gems that glitter all over the outfit, like stars against a pitch-black sky. The gems catch even the smallest amount of light and sparkle brightly. He sighs and puts the outfit down, crossing to his things and searching through them for the wooden box that has sat on the mantle of his new home since it was completed. He’d intended to give this to Thranduil the year before but had never quite gotten around to it. “Feren?” he asks, turning to the elf still waiting in the doorway. “Please take this to your king. It is a token of my thanks for his gift.”

“Of course, aran nin.” Feren answers, carefully taking the box from him and turning to leave, only he pauses in the doorway. “Do you need help with dressing?”

“No, I can figure that out on my own, thank you.” Bard answers, without snorting like he wants to. He’s been dressing himself since he was four years old, he doesn’t need help now and certainly doesn’t expect to in future.

“Of course, lord.” Feren bows his head and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Once he’s gone, Bard sits down on the edge of the bed and simply looks at the beautiful robe that his lover has had made for him.

Slowly he gets himself ready for the evening.

* * *

“Wow, da!” Tilda exclaims, the first of his children to see him when he leaves his room. She’s staring at the outfit that clings to him, skin hugging but not suffocating, Bard doesn’t quite understand how it manages that, but he’s not going to complain.

He looks down at himself, sees the light sparkling off the gems upon his sleeves and he hums, slowly spinning in a circle so his children can appraise him. “Too much?”

“Just right.” Sigrid answers, a bright smile on her face as she steps forward to gently adjust his diadem. He hates wearing it, but given all the gems on his robe, it would be odd to have a bare head. Bain tugs at his own robe and it’s then Bard realizes that his children are not wearing the outfits they’d picked out back in Dale. Thranduil obviously was going for a theme.

Sigrid’s dress is one that would cause mouths to wag, were they amongst their own. Her new outfit is a strapless, beautiful navy-blue ball gown that hugs to his daughter’s skin, accentuating the fact that she’s no longer a little girl. The bodice is completely covered with the tiny Gems of Elbereth, like someone caught stardust and scattered it over his daughter’s chest. The skirt of the dress has fewer of the gems, but still carries a beautiful sparkle. On Sigrid’s head is a white-gold band, set with a single sparkling gem at the centre. Looking at his other two children, Bard wonders if Thranduil has any of the gems left.

He’s relieved when he looks at Tilda’s dress than the tailor obviously styled it for a little girl. It’s the stereotypical dress of princesses from all the old stories, complete with all the lace and frills, only it’s pitch-black and dotted with little gems, like Bard’s outfit. On Tilda’s head, is a pretty little diadem that sparkles with lots of little gems, his daughter looks more like the star she is than she ever has at any other point in her life.

When he looks to Bain, he smiles, his son is dressed to match Sigrid. Navy-blue robes scattered with stardust, that cause him to sparkle and glow whenever the light catches him. Perched on his head is the diadem that the dwarves had sworn was Girion’s, a band of silver that shone with emeralds. The dwarves had found it, after they’d already agreed to forge Bard a new one, so it was decided that it would be Bain’s.

“You all planned this.” Bard says, looking between his children, who suddenly have their innocent faces on.

“Tauriel and Feren came to visit once when you were with the dwarves. We’ve been secretly meeting to organize this since.” Sigrid answers, smiling and twirling in her dress. “The theme is interesting; our only involvement really was to stand still and be measured…”

Bard snorts at this and rolls his eyes, trust his lover to include his children on a surprise, but ensure they get to enjoy it, too. He huffs and turns to Feren, who has been lingering in the background.

“Lead on, Feren.”

* * *

The feast, it turns out, is in honour of the stars themselves. Bard suddenly understands why his lover wanted him here and why he went to the trouble of organizing them outfits. Bard turns to his lover with a raised eyebrow once the festivities have officially begun. His lover just grins and presses a goblet of wine into his hands, Bard’s attention is caught for just a moment to the necklace around Thranduil’s neck, the golden band inlaid with emeralds. Bard snorts, thinking of how he and Thranduil have claimed each other with their gems, even if they can’t claim each other any other way.

“We can slip away later.” The elf promises, turning his attention back to the revelling elves. “Neither of us are kings tonight. Just people celebrating the light of the stars. No one will mind if we slip away into the trees.”

“My children might.” Bard points out, searching the clearing for his children, only to find them being entertained by different elves.

“They’ll be fine.” Thranduil assures him, a glowing smile on his face. In response, Bards sips at his drink and lets himself relax.

* * *

It’s not too much later when Thranduil gently wraps his hand around Bard’s wrist and quietly pulls him away from the celebrations. Bard goes without complaint, letting himself glow gently the further away from the elves they get, until he finds himself in a familiar clearing.

“Really?” he asks, laughing. “You invited us here so we could slip away to our clearing?”

“It’s the Feast of Starlight, Bard.” Thranduil answers, a lewd smirk on his face. “ _You_ are my starlight and I intend to have my fill.”

“Oh?” Bard asks, a sly smile pulling at his lips as he pulls his light back within himself. “You’ll have to find me first.” He says, running into the trees, laughing at the surprised cursing he hears behind him.

He spends the next hour moving through the shadows of the forest, always careful not to catch too much of the moonlight or starlight on him as he goes, but Thranduil is an elf of the woods, he is the king in this realm and Bard knew he would be found sooner or later.

“Found you.” Thranduil’s voice calls behind him and Bard laughs, turning to watch his lover step out of the trees like a predator.

“Come and collect your prize, you might want to close your eyes, though.” Bard says, letting his glow grow brighter and brighter.

What follows is a series of fumbling hands and muttered curses, of bright laughter and sweet words. When morning comes, the first of the sun’s rays shine down on a pair of kings nestled against each other, uncaring of the world that surrounds them.

While, up above, hidden from view, the stars whisper amongst themselves and talk of the Fallen and they wonder what it must be like to walk among the living things, to fall in love with mortal and immortal beings alike, to learn a story after its happened, than to watch it as it unfolds.

Some of them wish and hope and pray that they’ll get to experience it for themselves, one day.


End file.
